Right up there on my list of employer-time-wasting obssessions along with checking my email and looking to see if there are new comments on my blog is looking at the referral section of my site meter account. This is geek speak for finding out what site people were on before they clicked on to cocktailswithkevin.com. Sometimes people find their way to my collection of opinionated wisdom by clicking on a link from one of the many generous people who link directly to me. A few people come here after finding my biased bitchiness on another blog they've read or because I've posted something on Metroblogging Atlanta. The ones I find most amusing though are the ones who come via a search engine. If you have a blog, you know where this is going.
I know a lot of bloggers celebrate when they find someone new who's found their blog by asking Jeeves to tell them the names of hot bimbo sluts in the Houston area or googling celebrities masturbating while nude. I've had a few of those too, the most memorable of which was someone who found me after querying mom won't let me go poo in the stall. I'm not making that up. They actually used the word "poo."
One of the most popular searches people use to find me isn't as risque as poo though. It's in utero baby pictures on Google. Because one of my earlier articles was entitled in utero pictures of baby and it contained two images of my unborn just thirteen weeks into the gestation process, people from all over the planet have found their way to my little corner of cyber space just to see her pictures. For the most part I think that's cool, but part of me worries that someday I'll be watching a news story and her image will be on the placard of some anti-abortion activist. On more than one occasion I've thought of adding a pro-choice caption to the pictures. Maybe I could super impose a picture of the Virgin Mary or the Dali Lama in it somewhere and give my daughter a possible shot at a plug in The Enquirer.
Other weirdos have found me by searching for pictures of trichotillomania where trichotillomania is a so-called nervous disorder in which the subject pulls out his own hair. A few months back I wrote about the desire to pull out my cowlick and some people find me because of that. Whenever I see trichotillomania in the referring link I always click on the site to see what other pages came up for the same search words. There are some strange people out there who, instead of writing about an aversion to grocery shopping or meeting up with bears, write zealously about pulling out their eyelashes and eyebrows. That's just effed up. Reading their stuff makes me feel a lot more secure about myself.
Yesterday took the cake though. At 12:31 PM on July 8, some poor schlub found cocktailswithkevin.com after googling went to bar in hood to fill my wifes fantasies and she left with black guys. Dude, I feel for you. Really I do, but I find it amusing that whoever you are you use words like "hood" and then find it surprising that your wife left you for some guys who, I can only assume, are darker complected than your pasty ass. What exactly you understood your wife's fantasies to be, I have no idea. You leave us in the dark on that one. Had she lured you to the local watering hole with the intent of picking up another woman? Another man? Did she want to play that game where you two pretend to be strangers and you offer to buy her a drink and wind up taking her home? Oh, the mystery of it all!
And these Black guys, who were they exactly? A couple of men she recognized from work? Or church maybe? Did any of them claim to be the manager of a Nigerian bank account and offer her a cut if she agrees to give up your personal banking information? It bothers me that I don't know more about his situation. In less than two minutes this poor forlorn cyber searcher clicked on four of my entries before leaving, so I can only hope he found some quick solace in what he read. Either that or he kept reading with the hopes of finding out how he might relocate his wife and gave up after only four clicks. There's no way of knowing really. I have to let it go or my obsessive hair-pulling self will agonize over it for hours trying to figure it all out.
If he doesn't get his wife back, maybe he'll run into the Canadian who found me yesterday evening by searching on Yahoo for amputee skim boarding. Where do these people come from? In both cases, I hope these two eventually find what they're looking for. And thanks for stopping by.
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